


He Maketh Me to Lie Down (in Green Pastures)

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1800's, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gay Male Character, M/M, Magic, Werewolf Biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sniper left his home behind hoping for some peace and quiet in the wilds of Scotland. Instead he got swept up in the folklore and the superstition of the people. </p><p>Samhanach, he's called. The beast that terrorizes the hamlet of Caorachbrae. </p><p>He used to just take their sheep. But now he's out for blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Just a couple things to cover before we go on our way here~
> 
> \- This story hopefully won't be NEARLY as long as Sound Mind was. I'm hoping 15 chapters, roughly. Think of this like a palette cleanser before we move onto our next huge project. 
> 
> \- Sniper is gonna need a name! Some of you may remember his name from Sound Mind, we're gonna stick with it. 
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy the next installment from the King and Queen!

For most of the world 1896 is an exciting time. The century is drawing to a close and everyone is looking ahead to what the 1900s will bring. Already there are signs of change. More and more shops have electric lights, automobiles have started appearing on a few streets around the world, in places other than Australia. Even the fashions of the day are starting to shift towards slightly looser fits. Technology and progress are marching out of Australia across a planet that has been waiting far too long to catch up. And everywhere people are excited for what the changes will bring.

 

Well, not everywhere. In Caorachbrae, Scotland people are slow to change. Not just slow. The people of the small hamlet adamantly refuse anything that might resemble modernity. Clothing here hasn't changed much since the 1500s, nor have the houses or the people. Strong, sturdy sheep farmers who look on electricity that doesn't light up the sky and isn't followed by a roll of thunder as akin to witchcraft. These aren't a people who are looking to welcome the new century but who desperately cling to their past like a drowning man clinging to a rope, afraid to be washed out into the sea of innovation.

 

Which is exactly what Jacoby Mundy loves about it. After the hustle and bustle and shiny metals of urban Australia had made their way to his family's little ranch in the form of polished bulbs that made the house far too bright, he'd taken off to live in the wild. Not a social man by nature, Jack would have been happy to live alone in the outback if things like food and water hadn't become a problem.

 

So he'd packed up his bags and caught the first, slowest boat he could find and headed out, hoping to find a place with people who would understand his deep seated distrust of anything he didn't do or make or operate with his own two hands. Jack is a firm believer in doing things for oneself and amongst the inhabitants of Caorachbrae he'd found like minded souls who saw the easy living of the technologically inclined for what it was. Laziness.

 

So they'd let Jack make his home outside of town, up on his own hill. He'd bought some sheep and a dog to help him herd and happily settled into the life of a sheep farmer. He made a good living selling meat and wool in the surrounding towns and if now and then a sheep didn't come back from the pasture or disappeared in the night as long as it wasn't a pregnant ewe he could cover the loss well enough. It was a fact of herding that sometimes animals wander off or die and don't come home. He'd accepted that.

 

Until he'd seen something in the shadows one night near the sheeps' pen before one disappeared. And he'd started to hear whispers in town of other farmers who'd lost sheep and chickens and once a whole cow. He heard them talk of the monster that lived in the woods that came at night, especially when the moon was at it's brightest, and took away with it some of the livestock.

 

At first he thought it was a story. The product of old superstition and the need to keep small children from wandering into the forest and getting lost. The villagers probably saw what he saw, just a large wolf or maybe a bear and over the years the story had grown and changed into something more sinister. As long as it didn't hurt anyone or make too much trouble with the sheep no one minded too much. It was a good story to tell in the pub on cold nights after all. There's no need to take it too seriously.

 

But as the years go by and his herd grows in size – he does have the largest property after all, with an entire hill all to himself, so his herd had plenty room to grow – he started to see traces of this monster more and more.

 

“Samhanach” he’s called by the villagers. Nobody knows for sure what he is or if he’s even a he, but the womenfolk insist that no feminine creature would ever gut sheep and leave the carcasses lying around like bloody trophies.

 

Sometimes Jack would wait up to try and catch a glimpse of the beast, but it always seemed to sense when he was watching for it. He would fall asleep by his window and by morning there would either be another sheep missing, or there wouldn’t. It became pointless to try and spot him, so eventually he stopped trying.

 

Samhanach never came near the people. Nobody ever saw him but from a distance. Sometimes people claimed they heard him, but Jack is wholly convinced that it’s just a regular wolf’s howl. The beast never took more than a couple sheep every other month, and given there are more than twenty sheep farms in the whole 100-population hamlet, he’s not that big of a problem.

 

For ten years it was like this. Samhanach didn’t bother the people, and the people didn’t bother Samhanach.

 

But things changed. Slowly, at first. A little boy named Cayden disappeared. It was a tragedy that rocked the town, and no matter how hard the village searched – Jack included – his body was never found. His mother wept for days, everybody knew they could find her in the church. She couldn’t even stand by the end of the week, she’d been kneeling on the stone ground for so long just praying and praying that he might come wandering back home.

 

Caorachbrae is inland, so there aren’t any cliffs for the boy to have wandered off. The only place he could have gone was into the woods that surround the hamlet almost completely, save for one big dirt road that leads to the nearest major city. His mother tried to convince herself that her boy just ran away and he’s living in Edinburgh now, happy as can be. The villagers know better. They found blood in the trees.

 

Then Flynn vanished only three weeks later. It was strange enough for the first to go, but to lose a second was not a coincidence. In a village of only 100 people, losing two children in a month is the biggest thing to ever happen. Hands started pointing, blaming people, especially the parents of the missing children, for not being responsible.

 

But it was when Paul was lost, and then found a few days later in a stream in the woods torn to shreds that people knew what was going on.

 

Samhanach, after fifteen years, has upgraded from sheep to children.


	2. Chapter 2

There are no words to describe the tension suffocating the tiny hamlet of Caorachbrae.

 

Men sit on their porches at night with rifles. Mothers walk their children everywhere, holding tightly to their hands no matter how far they're going. Even a walk down the street is too dangerous now when the sun starts to set.

 

The woods are off limits and Jack somehow finds himself in the position of the town's first line of defense against the beast. His farm is ideally situated to watch the forest line for any signs of Samhanach. So he sits by his window until he's too tired to keep his eyes open, gun or bow in hand, prepared to shoot at the first sign of the shadow in the trees.

 

The tension only mounts as they draw nearer to the full moon. The only consistency the village has ever had in regards to Samhanach, that moon. It’s like a calendar, when it’s full and round in the sky, it’s a guarantee that somebody’s sheep will be dead or missing by morning.

 

As if sensing the village is on the lookout for him, the beast doesn’t appear at all in the week approaching the full moon. But they know he’ll show up when that moon is completely full. He always does.

 

The night of the full moon finally arrives and rather than staying inside like usual Jack and all the other man are out patrolling their lands, walking protective circles around their penned animals. If any of them sees the beast they know to shoot on sight and call to the others for help as soon as it's down.

 

It’s well after midnight and there’s no sign of a ruckus in town. Any gunshots will ring across the entire village, so he knows Samhanach has yet to rear his head. Jack clutches his bow protectively, arrows on his back, his eyes scanning the brightly-lit fields of his property. The full moon always provides the best light, but tonight it just makes everything look misty and unholy.

 

He hears twigs snap in the tree line several yards away. His eyes hyperfocus on the source. Seconds pass into a minute without another sound or a trace of movement, so he continues on his way.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something. Whipping his head around he watches a huge black shape slink out of the trees, at least fifty yards away. If he hadn’t seen the sheep for reference he might not have known how large it really was. The size of a bear, at least, or bigger. His skin goes so cold so fast the sky might have just dumped icy rain on him.

 

He’s never seen Samhanach this clearly before. It’s always just a suggestion, a flicker of movement in the trees. He’s never _watched_ the creature like this before. Nobody has.

 

Slowly he slides to the side so he's partially hidden by a bush and raises his bow with shaking hands. This is his only shot. If he misses and Samhanach notices the arrow it'll flee, or worse, it might attack him. And he can't fight off a beast that size.

He nocks his arrow and takes aim. One breath, in and out, and on the exhale he lets the arrow fly. It sails through the air, silent and graceful as Samhanach bends forward towards the sheep. The arrow hits its target, embedding itself in the monster's side below the ribs and the monster roars in pain.

 

A shiver runs down Jack’s body. He’s never heard a sound like that before. It’s loud and monstrous, echoing through the entire village. It’s furious, agonized, and terrifying. It’s the kind of sound one would expect to come directly from the gates of Hell itself.

 

He stands frozen in place as terror grips him. No bear or wolf could ever make a noise like that. Birds scream and take flight in the black sky, awoken by the gruesome howl. Moonlight reflects off the beast’s eyes and Jack can see them even from dozens of feet away. Samhanach is staring him directly in the eyes.

 

Thoughts flicker through Jack’s head, that he should run, that he only has a few seconds to get to the safety of indoors, but his legs don’t cooperate. He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he stands rigidly still, watching the creature stumble.

 

And then suddenly Samhanach turns and lopes into the woods, and Jack can breathe.

 

He hit the beast. The villagers must have heard that god awful noise it made and they'll be wondering where it came from. Now that it's gone his legs start to work again, the weight that seemed to be holding them down vanishing.

 

He shoulders his bow and turns to run to town where he can see men with lanterns and women with candles and oil lamps gathering already. He turns to them and waves, shouting as he goes.

 

"I got 'im! Shot 'im in the side. He ain't dead but I got him," he says, panting by the time he gets to the assembled crowd.

 

Chattering instantly breaks out across the gathering, men shouting to one another and women tittering nervously about their sleeping children. If Samhanach is wounded but still moving around, he could be angry and he might not shy away from people now.

 

“We can’t wait until morning!”

 

“He could be miles away!”

 

“We have to go after him _now!_ ”

 

“I know how to track,” Jack shouts over the frightened villagers. “Grab all your guns and bows and follow me, I saw which way he went.”

 

He troops into the woods with a battalion of men behind him. He had expected a slight challenge, but he must have wounded Samhanach more than he thought. The beast left a wide berth of broken sticks and overturned rocks in his wake.

 

Excitement pulls through him the farther he follows the trail. The creature is clearly slowing down, heavy on his feet, stumbling and bleeding. If they’re lucky, they might find him already dead. Jack will be regarded as a hero, the man who slain the beast that stole away the children of Caorachbrae. He’ll receive gifts and pats on the back, maybe even a statue! He moves quicker as he daydreams, excitement building, leaving the rest of the men stumbling behind him and struggling to catch up.

 

He breaks into a clearing and his blood runs icy again. He sees the form of Samhanach slumped on the bank of a stream, his giant back facing the man. He’s close enough now that he can see how truly large this beast is. Standing up as he is, the top curve of the monster’s shoulder reaches his _chin_. He’s not dead yet; Jack can hear his shallow, labored breathing, he watches his body heave. But he’s wounded badly.

 

Jack readies his bow and keeps it pointed towards the ground as he approaches the injured animal. Samhanach must have heard or smelled him by now but he makes no move to attack. Too tired or hungry or hurt to move probably.

 

Jack circles around, keeping a safe distance between himself and the horrible monster until he's far enough around to see it's face.

 

And, it's not what he expects. He had expected a snarling snout and fur and glinting yellow eyes. He had expected fangs long enough to rip out a man's throat with one bite. He had expected horror and fear to grip him at the sight.

 

Samhanach is scary. But he isn't wholly beast. His face is not covered with fur. He does not have ears on the top of his head like Jack could have sworn he saw. His face is flesh and snoutless, save for an epic pair of sideburns that connect with a shaggy mustache and beard that no wolves have ever sported. Instead he looks almost like a man. Not quite, but there is something human about his long pointed nose and high cheeks and his eye, only one, is warm and brown and not at all animal.

 

Samhanach turns his eye up towards Jack, his other eye just an empty, slashed socket, but the creature doesn’t move towards him one inch. Jack watches that eye flick for a second to the tip of his arrow before it’s back on his face.

 

The beast lets out a quiet sound, almost like a moan of defeat. It shifts slightly, and Jack’s arrow twitches, but Samhanach only succeeds in accidentally dropping one arm into the shallow water beside him with a splash. Jack furrows his brow, expecting a paw and seeing instead a furry hand with long fingers and claws.

 

He’s no closer to figuring out what the creature _is_ than he was several seconds ago, and no amount of staring is clearing up the confusion.

 

But there is definitely something human in the behemoth and he is obviously in pain. He could lash out at Jack easily if he wanted but it's as if he's given up and is extending mercy either in hopes of a quick death or in mercy being offered in turn.

 

But that's ridiculous. Monsters do not hope. Jack shakes the thought from his head as the villagers finally reach the clearing. They see him standing over the beast and begin to cheer as they approach and grab Samhanach by his fur, causing him to cry out in pain again. The sound cuts right through Jack and makes his heart ache but there's nothing he can do to stop them dragging the monster away.

 

He follows the triumphant men closely behind, and he notices something very strange. Samhanach is not attacking them. Despite being a wounded and frightened animal, the only movements he makes are clawing at tree roots and rocks, trying to get away from the mob. He isn’t turning or lashing at the men pulling his gristled black fur. He isn’t roaring or snarling. He’s howling and trying to break free so he can run in the opposite direction.

 

Jack has spent a lot of time hunting wild animals. In fact, he spent a long time surrounded by nothing _but_ wild animals. If there’s one thing he knows about an animal in pain, it’s that they turn vicious and violent. Every animal in the kingdom will bite and scream and attack their assailant so they can get away.

 

The only animal that Jack can think of that reacts to pain and fear with a singular desire to get away… is humans.

 

Jack follows a ways behind the others as they drag Samhanach into town. The men are all cheering and laughing with cruel glee as they pull the beast into the town square for all to see. Women look out of their doors and children who should have been asleep hours ago peek through curtains to catch a glimpse of the monster that's been terrorizing their little hamlet.

 

"At dawn" the provost announces, "We wull execute th' beast. Ilk jimmy wull be given a shot 'n' th' maws o' th' bairns wha tis taken are invited tae come see th' thing that stole thair sons 'n' daughters die."

 

Jack rolls his eyes at the the man’s archaic speech, but a cheer raises up from the assembled crowd and once again they begin to drag the struggling monster across the ground. They take him to their small jail as it's the only place big and solid enough to hold him.

 

As the jail draws into view, Samhanach seems even more panicked. He starts to thrash against his captors, howling and struggling all the harder. If Jack didn’t know any better, he’d say the monster recognizes what a jail _is_.

 

His nerves continue to escalate as the mob throws the beast into one of their two cells. He watches as they cheer and congratulate one another, patting each other on the back and inviting friends for a drink in their one lonely pub tomorrow to celebrate the monster being caught.

 

By all accounts, Samhanach should be furious. He should be beating the bars and roaring and snarling and lashing out through the bars. If he were any kind of normal animal he should be enraged and howling. Instead he looks _beaten_. He lays on the cold floor, arrow sticking out of his side, limp and tired, his one eye staring blankly ahead at the grimy stone. Jack hears him whine low, like a dog with a limp, and when he blinks slowly, his eye is focused directly on Jack’s face.

 

He can’t breathe. No animal alive can express regret or defeat in its eyes like that.

 

The last to leave besides Jack is the provost and as the crowd disappears the Australian reaches out to grab the man's arm, holding him back.

 

"Look, mate. I know I haven't been around here as long as some but could we have made a mistake? He don't seem that violent to me. Hard to imagine him stealing kids." Jack asks, looking towards the large furry figure curled up on the floor of the cell.

 

The provost simply splutters and jerks his arm out of Jack’s grip. “Ye MUST be joking! thare is only one beast in thae hills 'n' he's laying afore ye right now.” He waves a hand at the felled Samhanach, who gives a low whimper. “Ye think we shuid juist let him go? Dae yi'll waant THAT thing roaming free?”

 

Jack blinks a few times as he tries to make sense of what the hell the man had just said. He's gotten fairly good at deciphering Scottish accents but the provost spoke in such a way that was almost impossible to understand.

 

He definitely got that last bit though and he knows better than to say yes.

 

"Of course I don't want it wandering around. I'm just wondering if we might have shot the wrong bloody beast! If there's one of it there have to be more and this one doesn't look capable of hurting a fly. Or like it wants to," Jack says. He sighs and hangs his head. "Must be tired. Of course you're right and it's the right one I'm just nervous since I'm the one who shot 'im."

 

The provost pats Jack on the shoulder. “Be at peace, my son. Even if ye did shoot th' wrong beast 'n' Samhanach is aye roaming still, this yin afore us is just an _animal_. Nobody's aff tae miss it.” He straightens Jack’s coat and claps him on the upper arms. “Git some shut eye. Whin mornin' comes we'll murdurr th' beast 'n' mibbie we'll ALL fin' some peace.”

 

Jack nods and follows him out of the jail but not without glancing back at the beast who seems to be looking back at him, his brown, impossibly human gaze crying out for help.

 

Back at his cabin Jack tries not to think about Samhanach. He tries his best to put the matter out of his mind and go to sleep. But hours creep by as he tosses and turns because he knows, somehow he _knows_ that they've made a mistake. No violent child stealing monster would have come so quietly, without giving any of them so much as a scratch.

 

Two hours before dawn he creeps back out of his house and down into the quiet village. Everyone is asleep by now so it's no trouble getting to the jail where Samhanach is sleeping on the floor.

 

Before he can lose his nerve Jack takes the keys off the hook by the door and unlocks the cell.

 

He expects the monster to bound at him and perhaps even hurt him in his haste to escape. He saw the creature’s long pointed ear twitch when he came into the jail, so he knows he’s alive, even though he’s facing the opposite direction. But when the heavy door creaks open, he doesn’t move an inch.

 

His breathing his labored and shallow, huffing heavy in his chest. He sounds hoarse and rasping, and by Jack’s measure, he sounds more exhausted than any creature ever has. The arrow has crusted blood around it, leaving a very sore looking wound behind in coarse black fur. Jack can’t imagine how much it must hurt.

 

Jack approaches slowly, his hands extended in front of him like he would if he were trying to sooth a frightened dog. There's something canine about Samhanach's appearance so it seems fitting.

 

"Not here to hurt you. I'm trying to help." he says, getting closer.

 

Samhanach only whimpers and makes no move to get away or lash out which Jack takes for some understanding of his purpose. He drops to his knees beside the beast and nervously pets it's coarse hair before sliding one hand down to grasp the shaft of the arrow.

 

Samhanach keens loudly, its head coming up in response to the pain. Jack shushes him and continues to pet, trying to sooth the beast before tugging on the arrow. Another loud, even more pained sound but the arrow doesn't come loose. He tries again and still nothing.

 

They're running out of time. He has to get Samhanach out of here before the villagers wake up. He gives up on the arrow and snaps off the shaft, leaving only the head still inside.

 

"That's the best I can do for you. Now you've got to get up and get out of here," he whispers. "I can't carry you. Go on."

 

The creature pants loudly as Jack helps lever it to his feet. He wobbles and falls against the opposite wall, giving another quiet howl.

 

“Shh!” Jack lunges and pets the monster’s back to try and quiet him. If he makes too much noise, he could attract someone’s attention, and if he’s caught releasing this beast… it won’t go well for him. Nevermind that he’s been living amongst these people for a full ten years, they’ll set him on fire in a heartbeat. He’s always remained a bit of an outcast.

 

Samhanach stumbles again, limping heavily on all fours. Jack gently steers him out of the jail, jumping out of the way when he starts to fall. The beast is _huge_ and could do some very real damage if he fell on top of Jack. When his paws (hands?) touch grass, his eye instantly brightens. He turns his head skyward and sniffs, his long pointed nose taking in the scents of the early morning. He turns his head to look at Jack, he looks him dead in the eye.

 

For a split second Jack thinks he’s going to speak. But then he lopes off into the darkness, kicking up dirt behind him.

 

Jack watches him go before heading back inside the jail and locking up the cell before putting the keys back exactly as they were. At dawn when they all gather to kill the beast they'll think he's disappeared. Vanished in the night. It'll make for a good story at least.


	3. Chapter 3

Chaos is the only way to describe the morning. The clamoring is so loud that it wakes Jack even in his home all the way up on the hill. Sleepily, he stumbles out of bed and cracks a window, shivering in the chilly morning air as he sticks his head out to listen.

 

“He’s GONE!”

 

“The beast cannae be gone! Was anybody watching him?!”

 

“Witchcraft!”

 

“The cell’s still _locked!_ ”

 

“Check on the children! The children!”

 

Jack’s heart pounds in his chest. He knows he’s going to have to join the frightened commotion or he’ll be suspect in the beast’s escape.

 

He pulls on his coat and boots and grabs his gun like he was going coming down to meet them for the execution and rushes into town trying to fake a look of surprise and fright.

 

He finds one of the men and pulls him aside, out of the hustle and bustle of nervous people. "MacIntyre. What the bloody hell is going on?" he demands. "I had some trouble with one of my sheep and was held up. Why aren't we gathering to execute the beast?"

 

“Samhanach’s _gone!_ ” the ruddy-faced man says miserably. “Vanished into thin air!”

 

“It’s witchcraft!” the man’s wife blubbers, mopping at her eyes with the apron tied around her waist.

 

“The beast isn’t just an animal!” another man, Hisshop, hollers at the offending empty jailhouse. “It must only exist at night! When the sun arises he disappears like the shadows!”

 

“Stoap a' this ruckus!” the provost shouts, standing up on a rock to put himself a few heads taller than the assembly, and puts his arms out like he’s trying to embrace the crowd. “We hunted th' beast wance 'n' we kin dae it again! Tonight we'll double oor guard 'n' whin we catch him we'll murdurr him oan th' plook!”

 

There's a murmur of agreement through the crowd and even if Jack has no idea what "oan th' plook" means he knows they intend to go out and find Samhanach and kill him tonight. But he knows that he isn't some beast made of shadows and mist. So if he can go out and find him first maybe he can get him to steer clear of the village. He seemed to sort of understand Jack before. Maybe he'll understand again.

 

The townsmen agree to meet shortly after sun down, right after their evening meal. Jack agrees with the others and goes back to his farm on the hill. There's a lot of work to be done today but it will have to wait if he wants to find Samhanach before dark.

 

He collects his gun and bow both, strapping them to his back along with a sturdy traveling cloak. He jimmies an extra pair of socks into his boots and packs a lunch of bread and apples into a bag along with a length of rope and straps his knife to his belt. He fixes a water pouch to his hip and wraps a good chunk of sheep meat in cloth to hopefully lure the beast with.

 

Grabbing a lantern at the last second, with no idea how long he’ll be out searching, he fixes it to the top of his walking stick and heads out his back door. He whistles for his dog Roo, and the fluffy black and white dog comes tearing up the grassy curve of his pasture. He sighs when he sees she’s covered in mud all the way up to her chin.

 

He extends the shaft of the arrow that spent a couple hours buried in Samhanach. She sniffs the splintered wood for several seconds before whining low in her throat and trotting through the grass. Jack walks quickly to keep up with her, but she picks up speed as she ascends the small hill in his back yard and disappears over the other side.

 

When he crests the hill, he finds her sitting beside a dark shape in the grass. At first Jack is afraid that it’s another family’s dog stretched out dead in his yard, but as he draws nearer he sees that it’s a _man_. Totally nude, collapsed face down in his pasture. His skin is smooth and dark, putting him immediately out of place in the very extremely white hamlet of Caorachbrae. Jack hasn’t seen anybody this dark since he left Australia.

 

At first he thinks he’s dead. But Roo leans down and bumps the man’s side with her cold nose, and Jack sees him twitch.

 

A stranger in town on the day Samhanach disappeared won't be welcome. Especially a stranger who stands out so much. Only a few of these folks have ever gone far from town, a few traveling every year to the big cities to go to the markets. They’re a close-minded bunch and this will certainly seem a suspicious coincidence.

 

And they may be right. It is suspicious to find this man here after he let Samanach go. Bending down Jack gets a better look at the man and sees blood staining his side, still fairly new. The fact that the blood seems to be coming from almost the same place he shot Samanach only makes him more suspicious.

  
“Sir?” he kneels and tries to wake the man, but he remains unconscious. He rolls the man over to inspect him for other injuries, but besides the wound in his side, he seems unharmed. The Australian can’t help but notice that he’s tall and finely muscled, putting him even more out of place in the town where the average body type is short and boulder-shaped.

 

“Sir,” he says again, cradling the man’s shoulders and shaking him very gently to try and rouse him. For a brief second, his eyes open, and Jack’s breath hitches. One warm brown eye, and one empty socket flicker just barely open before they fall closed again.

 

There's no way this can all be a coincidence. But at the same time it's impossible to believe. Somehow this man, this entirely human man, is Samhanach.

 

Jack sucks in a breath and lets out a low sigh. No wonder the beast had seemed so human. Of course he had understood Jack and hadn't fought the villagers. He's part human himself. The man must be under some terrible curse. That must be what causes his transformation and because of Jack's arrow he hadn't been able to get home last night.

 

Feeling terribly guilty Jack does his best to lift the strong, heavy man and half carries, half drags him back to his cottage.

 

It’s no easy task to get him up on Jack’s bed, but before the Australian has completely thrown out his back, he’s tucked under soft sheepskins and wool blankets. He considers going out still in search of the beast, just in case this _is_ some fantastic coincidence, but he takes a moment to inspect the man first.

 

He’s handsome, there’s no denying that. A long, strong nose framed by a neatly trimmed mustache and sideburns, impressive cheekbones leading to a sloped, sharp jaw and a pair of full lips. His hair is a tangle of curls, and Jack spends a few minutes pulling twigs and dirt out of the springy locks.

 

He’s frightened to check the man’s wound. If the arrowhead is there, that means this man is the very beast who may or may not have eaten three children, and the implications of magic or curses that comes with it is something far beyond what Jack is ready to comprehend. But if the arrowhead _isn’t_ there, that means the monster is still running around free. And if Jack’s gut instinct about the creature was wrong, another child could die because of his poor choices.

 

First he boils some water and lets it cool. He tells himself it's to clean the man's wound but he knows deep down he's putting off discovering if the arrowhead really is imbedded in this poor man's side. Because the implications either way are a little too much to handle.

 

Once the water is boiled he pours it into a bowl and lets it cool while he finds a soft cloth. Finally there's nothing else he can do and he brings the clean, warm water to the bed side table and uncovers the sleeping figure and moves his arm to reveal the wound.

 

Gently he begins to clear away the old dried blood and the newer, still glistening trickle that's streaming out of him. He cleans what he can and almost immediately feels something hard inside the wound. Something suspiciously like stone.

 

He touches it again and in his sleep the man hisses and tries to turn away from the pain but Jack grabs his shoulder to hold him down. He touches the stone again and it's far too big to be a pebble that got lodged inside when he was injured.

 

It's an arrowhead. It has to be. His own arrowhead, that he shot into Samhanach the night before.

 

"Ah hell," Jack curses, leaning back in his chair. He sits for a moment before rising to his feet and fetching a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. Today is going to be a long day, he can already tell.

 

He can’t stall for nearly as long as he wants to. This is too frightening for him, he just wanted to herd his sheep and have a quiet, happy life. He didn’t want to harbor some kind of criminal cursed man-wolf. He drinks deeply from the bottle to calm his nerves before he pours a small amount over the wound. He lights and sets a candle near the man’s side so he can get a better look at it.

 

Jack is no doctor, but he knows he has to get this out. He can’t go to the resident doctor of Caorachbrae for more than one reason. If he, a simple sheep farmer, could figure out that this man is Samhanach by some witchery, then there’s no doubt the brilliant doctor would figure it out in less than a second.

 

But also, the doctor intimidates him. He’s a foreigner like himself, living off in the tree line at the other end of town with a sharp nasally accent and teeth that seem a little bit too sharp with his companion (and if the rumors are true, lover) the giant stone-faced and silent woodsman who is rarely ever seen in town. He’s the last person Jack would ever want to go to for help, even if the threat of being arrested and publicly shot wasn’t imminent.

 

He takes his knife in hand and carefully, gently cuts the wound just a little bit wider so he can grip the splintered wood in his nails and draw the pointed stone out of the man’s side. He breathes heavily, he’s sweating head to toe, but he still doesn’t wake. Jack drops the arrowhead on the floor and kicks it under the bed, he’ll have to bury it later to keep anybody from finding it. He cleans the wound again and stitches it shut with a bone needle and sinew twine.

 

The stitches are messy but they hold well enough when he cuts the thread and he breathes a sigh of relief. At least that's done. One more wash with the whiskey and he can relax.

 

When he does he realizes how bone tired he is. He didn't sleep all night and the whiskey sure isn't helping matters. There's still hours to go until sunset when he has to meet the other men of the town to search the forest again. So he fetches his winter blanket from under the bed and makes a nest for himself on the hard floor in a corner where he can see both the door and the bed before dozing off, Roo curled up protectively around him.

 

 

 

 

He’s not sure exactly how long he slept. It’s still bright out when he opens his eyes, and he realizes he was woken by Roo’s growling.

 

She’s standing near the bed, back raised, bearing her teeth. The man in the bed has woken up, and he’s sitting back against the wall to put distance between himself and the protective canine. He casts a glance over at the corner when he sees movement, and swallows hard at the sight of the stirring bushman.

 

They stare at one another in silence, single brown eye met by cloudy blue. Neither of them speak for a long time, Roo still growling low, her eyes fixated hard on the man in the bed.

 

"Roo. Get over here you lousy bitsa'." he says, holding out his hand to the snarling animal. He pushes himself up the wall as Roo snarls one last time before trotting over to him. He stretches and cracks his neck before turning his attention to the man on his bed.

 

"You've got a bit of explaining to do mate. Where do you want to start?"

 

The man swallows, hard. His eye flickers over to the Aussie’s back door, like he’s gauging how far he might get if he tries to run, before looking back at the man’s face. Something in his chest pulls tight, and he realizes with a start that he recognizes this man. Brows furrowing, head cocking to one side, Jack frowns when the man in the bed smiles.

 

“You’re the lad from last night,” he says, his voice a bit hoarse but otherwise kind and gentle and not at all the kind of voice Jack would expect from a cursed man. “You let me free.”

 

So it really is him. There's absolutely no denying it now, even if he could have ignored the arrowhead he can't ignore and admission like that.

 

"I also shot you. Sorry about that," Jack says uneasily. "Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey?"

 

The man gives a tired smile and settles the sheepskins a little more appropriately around his waist. “That’s alright laddie. Though if you have a pair o’ trousers to spare, I’d appreciate that.”

 

"You're a bit bigger than me. Nothing I have will fit you. But if I were you I wouldn't go out any time soon. The villagers are going to be heading out to look for you again soon and this time they aren't going to toss you in a cell," Jack warns. He stumbles into the kitchen and begins fixing himself a pot of tea. "You must be hungry at least. I've got some haggis if you'd like."

 

The man sits in place while Jack bustles around for a minute and tosses him a leather strap. He makes a makeshift kilt by tying one of the sheepskins into place around his hips, but when he tries to stand, the pain flares in his side and his leg gives out with a hiss. He claps a hand to his wound and screws up his face into a pained grimace, sweat springing out across his forehead again as he slowly lowers himself to the ground in lieu of trying to stand upright again.

 

When Jack comes back into the room and finds him slumped on the floor panting, the guilt is back in full force.

 

"Oh damn," he says, going to the stranger and offering a hand to help him back on to the bed. Its hard work because moving at all only makes the pain worse and the man's legs keep giving but they finally get him settled again. "Looks like leaving isn't much of an option. Not until you're more healed. I've got whiskey to dull the pain but beyond that you're going to have to push through."

 

“I’ve had worse,” the man shrugs, but Jack knows the sad truth behind his words. He can’t imagine the kind of hardships a cursed man has gone through. He has a million questions, but all of them seem rude, almost, in the face of this gentle humanity. “Name’s Tavish, by the way,” the man says, breaking Jack out of his thoughts. “And you?”

 

"Jacoby. Call me Jack," the Aussie answers. He drops into his seat next to the bed with a sigh. Out the window he can see the sun starting to go. Soon he'll need to light his lantern and go into town to join the other men to avoid suspicion.

 

He inspects Tavish again. With the light shining on him properly, Jack can see his skin is etched with gleaming dark scars just a few shades darker than the rest of his skin. They almost resemble the stripes of a tiger, covering his arms and chest, and if Jack isn’t mistaken, some of them are so clean they look self-inflicted.

 

He has dark hair on his chest and tightly muscled belly, but not nearly as much as Jack would have expected on a man who turns into a giant hairy beast. There doesn’t appear to be an ounce of fat on him, he hasn’t seen anybody so trim and well-built since he left Australia with all of its perfectly sculpted men and women behind. This man looks like an anatomical drawing come to life.

 

Realizing with an embarrassed start that he’s been staring for the better part of a couple minutes, he’s snapped out of his awkward imaginings by his kettle rattling a miserably whistle.

 

"Are you sure you don't want a cuppa?" Jack asks after springing out of his chair like a jack in the box. He goes to the kitchen and takes out two old chipped cups anyway and starts making his own. "I'm going to have to leave you soon and go to the village. We're going into the woods again tonight to look for you. You can't get up and make anything for yourself so if you want it you'll have to say so before I go."

 

“Might as well leave it in reach,” Tavish sighs and massages his side. “I suppose I’m stuck here for a few.”

 

He’s silent for a couple minutes as the man brings him a steaming cup and sets it within reach on the thick footboard of the bed. Tavish watches him get ready, strapping himself up like he’s going on a good hunt. This man’s accent is strange and his look is far different from the sort around here, he’s lankier and willowy and haggard like he’s seen too much and has earned his peace.

 

“Why is it you let me go?” Tavish asks quietly as Jack is jamming his feet back into his boots. “I mean to say, why is it you don’t think I took the little ones when everyone else thinks I have?”

 

Jack stops for a moment, trying to find the right words to answer. He knows why he let him go. Of everything he did it was his eyes that really let him know that there was something akin to humanity inside the monster. But that's not what convinced him that Tavish isn't the one who took the kids.

 

He finishes pulling on his boots as he finally answers. "You didn't try to kill me. Or any of the other villagers. You never took a swipe or a snap at us when you could have been tearing us limb from limb. No child stealing beast would think twice about killing to get out of danger."

 

Tavish stares down at his hands with a small smile. He doesn’t remember much about the night, only snippets, raw emotion and blurry images. He remembers Jack’s face, he remembers fear, and little else. The full moon is always the hardest, always the most painful and leaves him with little of his human compassion to work with. But this stranger saw him and had faith in him. He’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.

 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know what else to say. There’s really no way to thank a man for helping you escape public execution. While they would have shot a giant dog, he doubts if they’d come back to the cell and dawn and found a man, that they would have been so quick and merciful. Everybody’s always looking for a good witch to burn. He’s seen enough people burn alive to know that he can think of a million ways he’d rather die.

 

He wants to say something else. Anything else, to show his gratitude. Thanks doesn’t seem like enough. But he doesn’t get the chance to speak because his stomach lets out an unholy noise and his cheeks go hot with embarrassment.

 

Jack laughs, thankful for the break in the mood and goes back into the kitchen. A few minutes later he comes back with a cup of soup warmed on his wood stove and a loaf of bread with some butter he had bought the day before from the one dairy farmers in town.

 

"Here. I can't make much more than that so it'll have to tide you over for now. If you're still awake I'll make something better when I get back." Jack says before grabbing his gun and his bow and quiver and heading for the door.

 

He stops in the door way and turns back to Tavish. "If you see anyone coming, keep your head down."

 

Tavish nods at the other man and watches him leave, his dog bounding closely behind him. He takes a moment to look around the cabin and takes everything in. It’s small and cozy, only exactly as many rooms as he needs, warmed by a wood stove crackling merrily just out of sight. The whole place smells like wood and spiced meat and the man who lives there, Jack. It all smells intensely like Jack.

 

He hasn’t felt this comfortable in a while. He didn’t think it was possible to feel safe in the home of anyone in this village.


	4. Chapter 4

Given the option, Jack would have preferred to stay put. Maybe they wouldn't notice if he didn't come. But seeing as he was the one who shot the beast initially, they're probably expecting him to do it again.

 

Nerves rising, Jack collects his lantern and his gun and heads down into town where the men have started to gather. He's a little worried about leaving Tavish all alone. In his house. If at any moment he could turn into a dangerous beast. But he'd had enough sense not to attack them before, maybe he'll have enough sense not to destroy the Aussie's few belongings.

 

He tries to put the worries out of his mind as he greets the villagers. If they notice they don't say anything, probably assuming he's nervous about the hunt. That's fine for them to think. He knows they won't find anything out there but let them think the beast frightens him. It'll take more suspicion off him when they come to their senses and realize someone had to have let Samhanach out of the jail the day before. And the less attention they pay him the better.

 

The hunt is long and winding. They all look to Jack, expecting him to lead them. He was the one who claimed to have a tracking skill. He makes up a whole lot of nonsense about broken branches and leads the men around in circles for a few hours. Lanterns blazing, lit by the light of a nearly full moon, they're not really getting anywhere but lost.

 

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls, and the men all shout in fright. Jack tries to assure them it's just a wolf, but they're not really listening. Mob mentality is settling in and fear is gripping them. Jack wishes he could tell them with the absolute certainty he has that they aren't going to be attacked tonight, but the most he can do is try to make his calm infectious for the others.

 

"Maybe we shouldn't have come, all of us," someone speaks up in the dark. "What if th' beastie decides to attack while we're away?"

 

That comment was extremely uncalled for, if you ask Jack. The others all start to panic, some insisting they want to double back and check on their families. A few proclaim that they're lost and start to worry they'll freeze or starve in the woods if Samhanach doesn't find them first. The whole caravan is unraveling quickly.

 

Jack is sore and cold and very hungry, he would love nothing more to just go home. But the others will expect him to have the most pride of anybody because he shot the missing beast, so he'll want its head on a spike more than anybody. If he gives up too easily, it'll tempt their suspicion. And given that he's the one who actually has Samhanach _in his house,_ he can't afford suspicion.

 

He splits the group in two. One group to stay in the forest, holding together and keeping an eye out for Samhanach, the other he'll lead back home to check on the town and stay to protect the women and children left behind. He assures the men in the woods that he'll come back and join them as soon as they're sure the town is safe and until then to form up into a circle and watch each other's backs.

 

If nothing else the journey will waste some time. These men aren't adventuring types. They don't like being away from home for too long or wandering too far. A few more hours and they'll see the sun peeking over the trees and they'll call it a night.

 

He leads the men back, a much more straight forward journey than the winding way he'd come up with for the beast to have taken. They all arrive to find the town safe and whole and they take up positions watching the tree line in case anything comes out that isn't their own men.

 

Sure that they're all satisfied Jack makes a small detour to "check on his sheep" and stops to peer in the window to see how Tavish is doing. Roo jumps up on the windowsill to peek inside too, her tail wagging.

 

He's just sitting at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, covered modestly by sheepskins, his hands folded in front of his face, and Jack realizes he's praying. His food looks untouched beside the bed, and in the low glow of the candlelight he looks sweaty. It's no surprise that he's not in the best of shape, but Jack hoped that being inhuman would give him some edge to his health or resistance to injury.

 

It seems impolite to watch  the man pray, so he slinks away from the window and elects not to go inside to check on him. He heads back into the woods, feeling bone tired and hungrier than ever, and it takes him no time at all to find the clumsy circle of frightened men.

 

These men are sheep farmers and lumbermen, they build houses and haggle prices over cheese. The most exciting thing that happens in their lives is when they get to chase crows out of their potato or pumpkin fields. Chasing a demon dog all over Hell and back goes against their very nature and sensibilities. People live in Caorachbrae because they want to __escape__ the excitement of the rest of the world.

 

So it's no surprise when the group of them stumble across a wolf den and are suddenly face to face with two grown wolves, they decide enough is enough and they turn back before the snarling animals decide to lash out.

 

"Maybe he's left!" someone suggests in a shaking voice.

 

"Aye, mayhaps we a'scared him off!"

 

"Could be we'll never see hide o' hair of the beast again!"

 

Roused by their own pep talk, most of the men decide to celebrate in the pub. What exactly they're celebrating is a mystery to Jack, but he's thankful for the false hunt to be over. However, just as he's about to turn home they invite him for a drink, and he couldn't exactly decline. Especially when they intend to pay for it.

 

He goes for a few rounds and after his third drink he reminds them that he travelled back and forth more times than any of them and he's pretty tired. They force another two rounds into his hands, for the trip back, before they let him stumble out of the tavern and slink back up the hill. He practically falls through his front door, spilling lager on his shirt as he goes.

 

"Want a drink?" he asks without looking at Tavish. He pulls himself up and slams the door behind him.

 

"No," Tavish says firmly as the sharp scent of booze hits his powerful nose and makes him shrink back. "Swore off th' poison after I spent better part o' ten years buried in a bottle. How in God's name did a hunt fer my hide turn into a trip to th' pub?"

 

"Celebratin' our victory in chasing you off," Jack laughs. He sets the drinks on the counter and starts rummaging through his ice box and cabinets for something to eat.

 

Tavish sits back against the wall tiredly, his vision swimming in the low candle light. He hadn't been able to eat the stew Jack left for him because he's been feeling ill and weak all day. He knows he needs to eat to keep up his strength, but at this point it feels like he might vomit, and that would put more strain on him than he's willing to put up with.

 

"I'm not gone yet," Tavish reminds the tipsy Australian in a low voice. "If my fever gets any worse, though, I might be soon."

 

"I know you're not gone. I'd have had a much easier day," Jack says. "Instead I got to lead a load of toey farmers about for a bonza thirteen hours. I'm chilled to the bone an' starving on top of it."

 

He finds some crackers in the cabinet but other than that everything would require cooking. He weighs the dangers of burning down his house because he's cooking drunk against the possibility of having good warm food and decides to try relighting the fire he'd made before to warm up the stew still in the pot.

 

"That doesn't look safe," Tavish says when the Aussie starts to try and relight his fire. He would prefer to get up and  help, but even shifting his legs from crossed to straight feels like a chore. Even breathing is painful and labored. He closes his eye and rests his head back against the wall, fanning himself with a sheepskin as best he can.

 

Jack empties Tavish's fairly untouched stew back into the pot as the fire starts to warm it again, and the Scot slowly makes his descent so he can lie flat on the bed.  

 

While the stew warms on the fire Jack turns to look Tavish over. He looks weak and frail, despite his musculature. He's still attractive but in a sad sort of way, like, well for lack of a better comparison, a wounded animal. But he's awake and talking now so maybe he can tell Jack a little bit of what's going on.

 

"So, we've got a lot to yarn about. why don't you start by telling me what the bloody hell happened to you," he says.

 

Tavish huffs a laugh out his nose, smiling feebly. He knows what Jack meant, and he really shouldn't take advantage of his good nature, but he can't help himself. "Well, I was minding my own business when out of the blue this scarecrow shot me with an arrow."

 

"You're a funny bloke, mate. Now how about you answer my questions or this scarecrow will put that arrowhead right back where he found it." Jack sneers, checking on his pot. Still not boiling but it's starting to smell delicious and it's making his stomach growl.

 

Tavish's smile disappears and he sighs, staring up at the ceiling. He closes his eye, trying to chase away the impending headache and he massages his eye with the heel of his hand. "I inherited it," he mutters. "My father wronged a very old and very powerful wizard, and as punishment my mother was cursed with the same thing I've got. She's blind and too old to hunt, so I hunt for her. She's probably wearin' a hole in the carpets back home worrying about me."

 

Jack's sneer drops into a sympathetic frown. He might not be close with his mother but he knows she worries all the same. "Sorry mate. We'll get you back to her as soon as I can. She old? She going to be alright on her own?"

 

"Yes, she's old," Tavish turns his head to look at the other man. "But she'll be fine for a few days on her own. She's got a powerful mean nose an' I built her house from the bottom up so she can get around without a struggle. She's more stubborn than an ox, if I'm gone for too long no doubt she'll try to track my scent an' I fear her wandering off a cliff. We live across the mountains."

 

"Or she could end up out here, following your scent. And with this lot out and about looking for whatever took their children they'll put her in as much danger as any mountain could." Jack sighs. Foolish old hermits, the lot of them. But speaking of the children…

 

"By the way, you know anything about that? About the kids?"

 

Tavish looks back up at the ceiling with a nod. "Oh, yes. I do," he sighs and covers his face with both hands. "It wasn't me… but I still feel responsible."

 

He drops his hands back to the covers. "There's another beastie in these hills. A gargoyle. I've scuffled with him a few times o'er the years an' let him know I'm nothing to be trifled with. Scared him off the village best I could, snapped at his heels. He's the one what gave me this."

 

He indicates his missing eye with a sigh, his face screwing up into guilt and shame. "Last month my mum came down with a chill something fierce, I was afeared she would die any day, so I didnae leave her side for a moment. He noticed I was gone and took advantage of my absence. If I could turn back the clock I'd save those children, they're dead because o' my negligence-" his voice started to pick up speed, and he cuts himself off right as it cracks, and he covers his face again.

 

Jack crosses the room and places a hand tentatively on the man's shoulder. He might not know exactly what this man feels like now but he imagines it's not too far off from what he feels like when he loses one of his sheep to a wolf. The sadness, the responsibility, the anger at not getting there soon enough. It can't be that different if maybe not as strong.

 

"Since I've been back I haven't seen hide o' him," Tavish sniffs hard and wipes at his eyes. "I want to find him and tear him apart for what he did to the kiddies. I want to give him as a trophy to the village an' just go back to the way it was, aft when nobody was tryin' tae kill me. Or hell, maybe I shoulda let the lot o' you kill me, it's my fault the young are dead."

 

"If you weren't around what's to stop that monster from coming and taking the rest of us too? This ain't a time for feeling sorry for yourself. You need to rest up and heal. You've got a job to do." Jack says stiffly. "If you couldn't take this thing out on your own the lot of us won't stand a chance."

 

Tavish forces his breathing back under control. Jack is right, he's got to kill the monster before he's allowed to die. He's got to keep it from stealing any more children. "I dunnae know what he's even doing this far north. Gargoyles stay in France, I've never heard o' one so lost. If he hadn't tried to make off with a two year old th' first night I ever met him I woulda tried to get him home."

 

"France huh? Shoulda known it'd be some frenchie bastard." Jack growls. He goes back to his stew which is finally starting to bubble and ladles some into a rough wooden bowl. He takes a bite and it's like heaven. Warm, delicious, hearty heaven.

 

"So where can we find it?" he asks, mouth full of mutton and vegetables and gravy.

 

"If I knew, he'd be dead by now. He's a flighty bastard. Literally. He has wings," Tavish flutters his hands like he's going to fly away. "Looks like a demon straight out of hell. Big bat ears to  match the leather wings, ram's horns, feet with thumbs and claws the size of your paring knife… they usually perch around cathedrals and prey on whores and gypsies, the kind of fools of the night nobody will miss because they've no social standing. Ever seen photographs of those monstrous statues they say 'guard' the cathedrals? They're just perched all over hoping to scare away the actual gargoyles from picking it as their home. They're extremely territorial and they're all damned cowards so if they think there's another gargoyle there, they'd rather find a different home than try to fight for one's already taken. They don't work so well anymore, though, apparently they're flying this far out of their way to find new homes."

 

"How do you know all of this?" the Aussie asks. He sits down at the small table across from the bed with his meal so he can watch Tavish as he speaks. He's much more animated now and alive, even if he still looks weak. It's a good sign, means he still has some fight in him.

 

Tavish scrubs at his neck with a chuckle. "My parents collected old books on creatures nobody thought existed. My father was obsessed with them. I've met a whole slew of things nobody thinks are real. Faeries, fauns, goblins, vampires, witches - real ones, not the innocent girls who get blamed - one of my best friends growing up was a centaur foal. My first pet was a gryphon I hatched right out of her egg. The world's a whole lot more magical than most people think it is."

 

Jack smiles. It sounds great. Like Tavish grew up in some kind of fairy land out of a story book. It's definitely much better than the technological hell hole Jack had come from.

 

"Sounds bloody wonderful when you put it like that. Before you I hadn't seen much magic in my life." Jack shrugs.

 

"Maybe I can take you over the mountains sometime and introduce you to the mermaids that live in the bay," Tavish offers with a sleepy smile. "They'd certainly like to take you for a right swim. But I'd keep them from drowning you too much."

 

"Too much? I'd rather not be drowned at all. I ain't the best swimmer as it is. Ain't got much fat to help me float." Jack laughs, looking at his twiggy arms. All the fat he's got is centered over his belly, giving him a soft roundness but other than that he's pretty much skin and bones.

 

Tavish laughs in kind until it begins to hurt, and it softens into a tired smile. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Tavish growing steadily sleepier. "Thank you," he finally rumbles, barely above a whisper.

 

"For what?" Jack looks up from his stew.

 

"For what," Tavish repeats with a laugh. "For letting me go. For taking care of me. For putting me in your bed, giving me your food, for being open-minded. For not being afraid of me. You're a rare breed o' man, Jack. Wish more men could be like you."

 

"You didn't kill anyone. I could see that in your eyes. If those men hadn't lost their kids and been scared out of their wits they would have seen it too. None of us want to see an innocent man hang," Jack says. But he still blushes bright red and takes too big a bite of stew to try to hide his smile.

 

Tavish almost falls asleep in the few minutes that follow, but he wakes up again when Jack finishes his stew and starts to stir, blowing out candles and smothering his fire into embers that will glow through the night.

 

"Sleep in the bed," Tavish says.

 

Jack's head snaps up, thinking the man had been asleep. "What? No, you need- "

 

"Wasn't an offer," Tavish says, gently prodding himself over a few inches at a time until he's on the side of the bed near the wall. "You're not sleeping on the floor again, not in your own home."

 

"I don't mind it much. Slept on worse." Jack shrugs. But the bed does look awful inviting. After the long day he's had and the cold still clinging to him like an unwelcome guest he wouldn't mind sleeping on a mattress.

 

And he wouldn't mind too much sharing his bed with Tavish. He's an attractive man and kind and generous. He's been a pleasant enough guest and he'll probably keep the chill out of the empty space in the bed.

 

But it's a small frame and mattress and the other man is hurt bad. He could elbow him in his sleep and hurt him more. Or Tavish could accidentally hurt him. Or they could be too much for the poor bed frame to take and it could just give out under them.

 

But it looks so warm."If you're sure you ain't going to get uncomfortable or hurt anything. It's a pretty small bed."

 

"I'm sure," Tavish insists. It doesn't take much more convincing than that to have Jack slipping under the sheepskins beside him and curling into the moderately sized space. Roo follows suit, curling up down by their feet with a jealous whine over Tavish being in her spot.


End file.
